


To Not Going Alone

by Songspinner



Series: Sad Marriage AU [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: (not direct racism but references to it), Background Relationships, Drinking, Drunkenness, F/F, F/M, M/M, Minor Catherine/Shamir Nevrand, Minor Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan, Multi, Racism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:55:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24639520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Songspinner/pseuds/Songspinner
Summary: "What a miserable fate, caring about another person," sarcastic. "So if you don't belong, if the door is closed, and the hand dealt, then what choice will you make?""You don't understand." Since she shows no sign of refilling his glass, he does it himself, and takes a gulp. "I came here for a purpose. I wasn't supposed to stay. I wasn't supposed to belong here. But...Teach was more than a friend, more than a mentor, I need them. But now they're gone. And Dimitri...was a better person than I'll ever be, he was everything I'm not. Brave. Strong. Sincere. Honest. Kind. Selfless. He would have been a great king. And he's gone, too. And now..." He drinks down the rest of the glass, clearly getting more inebriated by the minute, and gazes at the table. "...now I haven't even told Hilda the truth yet, and it's too late now. She can't come with me when I go. I was going to ask her to be my queen... Always keeping secrets, even from the woman I love." Has he forgotten Catherine is here? Maybe.
Relationships: Catherine & Claude von Riegan, Catherine/Hilda Valentine Goneril, Hilda Valentine Goneril/Claude von Riegan
Series: Sad Marriage AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1781536
Kudos: 4
Collections: Hilclaude Week 2020





	To Not Going Alone

**Author's Note:**

> Hilclaude Week 2020 Day 3: Fódlan/Almyra. Beware the angst.
> 
> This is the first part of what is probably going to be an ongoing collaboration with one of the @CosplayTwo duo on Twitter. It's an AU in which Hilda's father, trying to contribute positively to the war effort, offers Hilda's hand in marriage to a Kingdom noble to cement an alliance between Faerghus and Leicester. Hilda hates basically all of the potential prospects, so Catherine comes to her rescue by taking her noble title back up again; Count Charon is only too glad to accept the match, and Catherine promises Hilda that their relationship doesn't have to progress anywhere Hilda doesn't want it to. Unhappy but wanting to do what's best for the country, Hilda agrees.
> 
> The problem is, she's in love with Claude, and Catherine's in love with Shamir.
> 
> (To explain the background Dimiclaude, Claude was in love with Dimitri too, but this is during the part of the timeskip when everyone thinks Dimitri is dead.)

Catherine hates this. She hates being in close proximity to her father, the frequency with which her given name is thrown around, the uncomfortable way it sits in her ears like the echo of a ghost. She hates the trappings of nobility she's forced to wear (even if she does like the circlet sitting around her forehead and the styling of the cloak around her broad shoulders) - it feels like wearing someone else's clothes. This is a stranger's life she's sitting in; an alien observer watching through her own eyes. Most of all, she hates the way this 'agreement' is tearing up the kids across the table. No, they're not kids anymore - they're grown. Look at them. Things sure do change in a blink. If Holst hadn't pleaded with her, she wouldn't even be here. What she _doesn't_ hate is the glimmer that this might make the world a safer and better place. That there's a flicker of hope that it'll stem the tide of war. That she won't have to raise the relic weapon leaning against her chair against familiar faces. The assembly reaches an accord for now, and Catherine wastes no time leaving the crowded room to get some air.

Claude, for his part, has kept himself busy. It’s easy to do, when you’re the leader of a country that’s tearing itself apart piece by piece on the eve of an invasion that could come any day now. It also makes it easier to avoid thinking too hard about what this little assembly is really all about. Easier to ignore your feelings when every five seconds someone has an argument they want Duke Riegan to settle, or a promise they want him to make to ensure their autonomy, or a diplomatic gesture they want him to perform to ensure these plans work as intended. _Intended_...ha. And that’s what Hilda is now, and he really shouldn’t be surprised; this was going to happen sooner or later. He was just hoping it would be later. Like...after the war later. When he could safely be up front with her about everything, ask for her hand, and then take her home with him to be his queen. Now...

Well, if it had to be someone else, Catherine is probably the best case scenario. And it’s not as though he’s _explicitly_ broached the topic of marriage to Hilda (although both of them have talked around it enough, in that way they have, that they both know the other has been thinking about it, and would probably say yes if asked). It’s just...hard. But if he wants his plans to work, if he wants to make allies of the remaining free Kingdom territories and win this war, he has to be willing to compromise. Even if it means compromising his own happiness for the sake of his ambitions and the lives they’ll save.

So he wears his polite and friendly Duke smile all day, until the talks finally come to a close and he manages to excuse himself before anyone else clamors for his attention and demands something of him. He pushes open the door to go outside and...sees Catherine there. It’s still odd seeing her dressed this way, without her armor, answering to ‘Cassandra.’ He walks up to stand beside her. “So, you’ve finally gotten to see how we do things in the Alliance,” casual, his usual lighthearted tone. “It’s a far cry from Kingdom politics, isn’t it? I could tell from the way your father kept acting like I’d committed some terrible sin whenever I opened my mouth.”

A smirk quirks her lips, the angry expression slipping away. "Fuck my father and his asshole behavior. I hate that he has to be here and I can't negotiate this for myself." That certainly would be a sight. She's not known for being politically adept

Claude hasn’t gotten much of a chance to talk to Catherine alone since she arrived; hearing her blunt language is genuinely refreshing. Her hair has grown out over the last four years, kept in a neat braid that hangs to her waist. At some point she's earned a facial scar that crosses from her cheek to the bridge of her nose. “I hate that too, on your behalf and on mine. It would be a hell of a lot more fun with you at the negotiating table. ;)” He’s keeping it light, because if he doesn’t, he’s going to look and sound as tired as he feels.

Catherine snort-laughs. His good humor is keeping them both afloat. "I'd get talked in circles and end up giving everything away and married to a horse or something, so it's for the best that His Dickcellency is in there arguing for our holdings."

Claude chuckles. “Forgive me if this is some kind of Kingdom faux pas, but can I ask about the scar?” He gestures a little to her face. “Dimitri once told me that kind of thing marks you as a fierce, elite Faerghan warrior, right? Not that I needed to see that to know you’re a terror on the battlefield, heh. Everyone knows Thunder Catherine.” _She looks like she hates being Cassandra Charon, anyway._

Catherine touches the mark on her face with a finger. "This? It's a bit of a 'you should have seen the other guy' story. I was breaking through Imperial lines and missed that someone had come up on me - and it would have been lethal but I reacted fast enough to only get this and not lose my head."

“Well, I’m glad for that.” Claude pauses to squint out at the sunlight dancing across the bay. “Do you want to go find someplace to get a drink? Or ten?”

Catherine takes a moment to enjoy the view, too. "Yeah. Yeah I do. Can we get food, too? I'm fucking starving."

”Absolutely. Lunch is on me.” Claude leads the way to his favorite little bar nearby that’s small and quirky and out of the way, where they have plenty of that famous Derdriu seafood and good drinks, and they don’t usually treat him any differently than any other customer, despite the multitude of reasons they might.

Catherine smiles, delighted by the way the restaurant is built to face the open air. She feels a little out of place, though, dressed up like a fancy barbarian swept in from the frozen north. So, she takes her cloak off and decides to focus on enjoying all the good food! "What do they brew the beer with? It's sweet and sour. I like it."

”Different kinds of fruit, so I’m told. I think you’ll find a lot to like about the food here. One thing Faerghus and Leicester share is a love of cheese. ;)” He’s decided on wine for himself, and is apparently as hungry as Catherine is, judging by the amount of food he orders and the way he digs into it.

"I've rarely met a food I didn't like, though I am...curious about how to eat... _that._ " She points at a prawn. "I'll have to get some bottles of this beer to go."

”Same way you eat anything else!” He gives her a bit of a grin, if one that's less enthusiastic than usual.

"It's got a head! And legs! It's like a lobster gone wrong. Lobsters have claws and you pop the heads off. Do you just... _rip_ the head off of this?"

Claude laughs outright. "I'm going to leave that mystery to you to crack on your own. Think of it as a challenge." He falls silent, focusing on his own food for a little while, before he asks, “How have you been, Catherine?”

She sighs. "Hanging in there, I suppose. Trying to figure out how to reclaim Garreg Mach, and where they're holding Her Holiness."

Claude nods. "I guess 'hanging in there' is about all any of us can do right now." He sounds more tired now. "Much as I'd like to say otherwise. All the plans in the world don't matter without the right resources, or...people." It's been four years, but the Byleth-shaped hole in his life never seems to get any less deep and dark.

Catherine picks up the prawn and squints at it. She eventually figures out how to remove the head and clumsily pull the shell off, sticking the meat in her mouth after. "Hey, that's pretty good." Then she rubs her finger over her facial scar, a habit she seems to have picked up. "Are we doing the right thing here?"

Claude's expression and demeanor don’t change, but he’s quietly tensing up. Part of him wants to say no. No, they should have fought back against the whole idea to begin with, not half-given in with this compromise. No, Hilda shouldn’t have to get married for the sake of his war effort. No, he shouldn’t have to give up on making the woman he loves his queen someday. But he doesn’t say any of that to Catherine. “You’re doing it for the right reasons,” he offers. Which is not a yes either, but hey.

Her finger trails back down the length of her scar, somewhere between a fidget and a remembrance. She lifts her eyes back to him, gaze sharpening. "I know my convictions are sound. I've never doubted those. But is it _the right thing to do?_ That's supposed to be hard, right?" Her hand settles back on the table, heavy.

”I’m hardly the person to give you an answer on that one. I don’t believe there’s ever a ‘right thing’ to do. Just choices, each with their own pros and cons. You weigh them and you make one, and then you deal with how it plays out.”

She makes a noncommittal noise and takes a big, somewhat aggressive swig out of her mug. "If there isn't a right thing, then I suppose I'll settle for the right reasons."

Now Claude's expression _does_ change, his mouth drawing into a thin line and his jaw tightening. “I hope you know that I don’t intend to just roll over on this. I’m still searching for a better solution.”

Catherine sighs again, big shoulders drooping for a moment. "Sorry. I'm not thrilled about the prospect, either. It means giving up a lot of freedom." _And my partner._

He tries hard to sympathize. But the fact is, she’s operating under the assumption that he’ll be sticking around in Leicester forever, not flying back across the Throat to where she’ll be expected to view him as the enemy from her new home. There’s no possible way he can keep seeing Hilda the way he does now, once he does return. And he must. He fights the urge to tell her to save her self-pity, when she’s the one marrying the only person left in the world who he feels comfortable being entirely himself around. And he’s getting a little uneasy about the way his own thoughts have been getting sharper, darker, more aggressive over the course of the day, as everything has been sinking in. “Yeah, I can relate.” His tone is sympathetic, as he puts on a rueful little smile he doesn’t feel.

Catherine can sense that this isn't the most comfortable topic. It's no secret that he and Hilda were close. Maybe he intended to propose to her himself later. It certainly would be a good move for a man of his station, and partial ownership of Fódlan's Locket for the leader of the roundtable makes for an incredible position of power. It'd both put him in a relationship with a good friend and secure his place as Archduke. A smart maneuver. "What's your plan otherwise?"

”Well, not to sound callous, but I’m looking into whether there might be another match to make. One marriage across the border makes another one less necessary, and Hilda’s father isn’t an unreasonable man. The Kingdom’s obsession with Crests makes that a little harder, admittedly.”

"Heh. Believe me, I'd rather not be married off like this. But Holst asked me, specifically, to step up. The first choice was a Gautier, to build a unified defense across Fódlan's borders. And a _Crest-bearing_ scion, if you catch my drift? If I rescind my proposal, that's back on the table. I think there's a lot of elements there you don't want, either, and Hilda certainly doesn't want them." She chuckles softly. "Besides, Holst and his father both seem more thrilled to have me as family than my own father does, so there's that."

"No need to mince words, I heard about Sylvain." Claude shakes his head. "But that isn't what I mean. Hilda isn't the only eligible noble in Leicester who can secure an alliance with the Kingdom through marriage. It doesn't _have_ to be her, or you. To be honest, if Sylvain is available, it _shouldn't_ be hard to find someone on this side of the border who would jump at the chance." There's hardly any evident personal connection here at all. He's just...playing chess.

"I heard the previous Alliance candidate was rejected? My father at least made it seem like this was a last ditch effort to try to make peace. Is he full of shit?" She takes another sip of beer and eyes up another prawn with determination.

"Unfortunately, he isn't." Claude debates whether to tell Catherine the whole story, but the truth is already out, now...and it's not as though she's going to do anything nefarious with the information. "The previous candidate was Marianne. But somehow, Margrave Gautier found out about her Crest and refused the match. Since the only ones who knew about it were the Golden Deer and the Church...I'm guessing someone in the Church is either an Imperial spy or has some other agenda." He ticks the options off on his fingers. "Lysithea's off the table, her parents are protecting her. And the Margrave refused to entertain the idea of Sylvain marrying a man, because he's so Crest-obsessed his head has taken up permanent residence up his ass. So Lorenz is off the table too--as am I, for that matter, ha. Which just leaves Judith, and I'm not sure any of the major Kingdom houses would accept a Daphnel match...not that Judith has a Crest anyway. So unless you're just chomping at the bit to marry Lorenz..." He smirks and spreads his hands. "So I'm searching for other, less obvious options."

"His hair _is_ lovely and he does smell good, but I also told my father I'd only marry a man if he can beat me in a swordfight, so sorry, Lorenz. You're out."

Claude chuckles. "So am I. I'm terrible with a sword, as you well know."

She puts her hands up in an 'oh well' sort of gesture "Guess I can't marry you, either."

"There _are_ other Kingdom nobles...Duke Fraldarius is probably a lot less hung up on matches that can produce Crested heirs, for instance, although I wouldn't be surprised if Felix outright stabbed him for trying to marry him off." It's a joke...mostly. "...besides. Without a Blaiddyd heir, Felix just might be a contender for the throne once the dust clears." He goes back to eating so he doesn't have to look at Catherine for a minute.

Catherine has suddenly lost interest in removing the head from this prawn. "He's... yes. He's high on the list of people in line for the throne. Unless he abdicates of course, which then gets... weird." She winks. "I have a shot at it."

Claude decides not to continue down this path. He's done enough thinking about the people he's lost and is about to lose, thank you very much. "At any rate, there still might be possibilities and I'll continue to look into them. Otherwise, I suppose Hilda could fake her death and leave the country." He smiles, but if he thought Hilda would actually _do_ it, he'd smuggle her into Almyra in a heartbeat.

"Oh, that's very dramatic. Can it be a double suicide?"

"Ah, even better. I'm sure I have a poison lying around somewhere that's perfect for the occasion."

"They'll write an opera about it."

"Heh." Claude finishes off his last prawn and eyes his glass, which is now empty. "What do you say to several more drinks?"

"I say you're unprepared to deal with me drunk and emotional, but let's find out."

"I'm game. Very game." He orders them another round, and has shifted from wine to something harder, now. He lifts his glass. "To saving Hilda from a life of Sylvain's bullshit."

She examines the new liquor. "What's this?" But she raises her glass anyway. "I'll drink to that!"

"It's a local citrus liqueur, and it's strong." Apparently, Duke Riegan is here to get wasted.

Catherine downs it like shot, even if it's probably mean to be sipped. "Phew." She shivers a little. "I like it!"

Claude takes a sip of his own and lifts his eyebrows at her. "Damn, if this is any indication, you're going to drink me under the table in five minutes."

"I'm both from the Kingdom and an accomplished drinker. Don't say I didn't warn you." She holds her glass out again.

"Consider me duly warned. But if I'm going to keep up..." He steels himself and downs the rest of his glass, too. "Gahhh. You Faerghans and your iron wills."

She laughs. "I wouldn't match me shot for shot if I were you. Now, help me get the head off this.... sea... bug."

"No no, never let it be said that Duke Riegan can't rise to a challenge." He reaches over and handles the prawn for her. "If you keep calling them sea bugs, Shamir's never going to eat them again." Then he goes to get them another...several...rounds of drinks, figuring if they're going through them this quickly he might as well.

She laughs again, though there's a little bit of sadness in her eyes now. "Well, what are they called, then? Because they sure look like sea bugs to me!"

"That, Catherine, is a prawn." He picks up a glass and sips at it.

"...Prawn. Huh, okay. They're tasty. So's this booze. Bottoms up!" She knocks back another.

Claude gives her a look as if to say, _I said I was game and I meant it!_ \--and downs his as well. It'll kick in in a minute, he knows. He considers asking for water or bread but decides, _fuck it, I'm sick of thinking today._

Catherine manages to peel another prawn and looks around, a bit unfocused, at everything else on the table. "Wait... was I supposed to... dip this little motherfucker?"

He snorts. "What did you think the red sauce was for?"

"No clue." She smothers a burp with her fist. "Those grilled vegetables, maybe?" She dunks that prawn and eats it. "...oh fuck, I should have done that sooner."

"Don't you always try everything on your plate at the beginning?" He folds his arms and leans them on the table.

"I sorta, worked my way in a circle?" She draws a clockwise circle in the air over her mostly empty plate.

He chuckles and picks up another glass, still leaning on the table with one arm. “Okay, Thunder Catherine, round three. Or...four? Whatever. Next round.”

"Bring it on, Your Grace."

”Ugh, please, no titles.” He downs this one, too.

"I'm just playing. Cheers--" She clinks her glass against his before drinking it, then goes after another prawn, dunking it in more sauce than is strictly necessary.

He watches her eat the prawn with a thoughtful look on his face. “Do you believe in fate?”

"Hrmmf?" She finishes her mouthful. "In what context?"

”Any context. Do you believe there’s a force that can...make sure you meet the right person at the right time, or something?”

"Maybe. We're set on this course by the Goddess, but we choose whether to heed her signs, according to scripture." She lets the follow-up burp rip, not bothering with the pretense of decorum, probably because she's tipsy. Or Catherine. It's anyone's guess. "You can ask Her to put someone on your path, or ask her to guide you to your next milestone."

”The Goddess. Sorry, Catherine, but I just can’t accept a goddess like that. There are other forces out there, too. Like the gods of fate.” Claude looks into the middle distance for a moment. “Sitting back and asking for guidance to dictate your life? That’s just...so Fódlan.”

"You asked me what I thought, didn't you?" She picks up the bottle and looks at it, before filling up her glass and offering it to him. "I can only answer for me. Your answer will be different."

He takes the glass and sips at it, now. “But you didn’t tell me what you thought. You told me what scripture says.”

"I used it to express my feelings. I'm not sure there is a fate. Just the things that happen, and the choices we make." She doesn't knock this shot back, but does take a long sip.

”...I used to think maybe the gods of fate had smiled on me by bringing Hilda into my life.” He sips at his drink again.

 _Ah, that's what this is about._ "Are your gods of fate capricious or merciful?"

”Neither, really. They're just forces of nature, and you can take the opportunities they present or not. They just _are_.” He sips his drink again. “So maybe somewhere along the way I just...made the wrong choice.”

"That's not incompatible with what I said." She leans back in her chair and rests one hand on her waist, the other holding the glass up. "I can't say the gods of fate aren't real, so let's say they are. They open doors. That also means they close them, too, yeah? That part is out of your control."

”Mm. This is why for a long time I didn’t believe in gods at all. Maybe I still don’t, I don’t know. Except I have no other way to explain Teach.” He finishes off the glass, looking like his thoughts are slipping into some kind of dark place.

"Let's say there are no gods. Then other people's decisions have impacted your life, and thanks to structures of power, they've reset your course. But the choice of how to play the hand you're dealt is still up to you." She finishes her glass and lets it dangle from her fingertips.

”Ha. You don’t have to tell me that. That’s my whole life in a nutshell. You know, when I first got here I swore to myself I wouldn’t let anyone get too close. I’ve never failed at anything so badly in my life.”

"Heh. That... Sounds familiar to me." She holds up a hand-- "Because Shamir said that, before you think my dumb ass would be so emotionally reserved."

Claude looks up at her now. “Really?”

"Yeah, really." Catherine eyes up the bottle, considering crossing the threshold into truly drunk.

He slides his empty glass over to her. “Shamir. She once said, whether or not you belong in a place can change at any time. She was right.”

"She's a smart woman. I...love her very much."

”...I don’t think I belong here anymore. Did you know that when I first met Teach, I intended to use them for their talents and the Creator Sword to further my ambitions? I never intended to _care_. To _need_ them.”

"What a miserable fate, caring about another person," sarcastic. "So if you don't belong, if the door is closed, and the hand dealt, then what choice will you make?"

"You don't understand." Since she shows no sign of refilling his glass, he does it himself, and takes a gulp. "I came here for a purpose. I wasn't supposed to stay. I wasn't _supposed_ to belong here. But...Teach was more than a friend, more than a mentor, I _need_ them. But now they're gone. And Dimitri...was a better person than I'll ever be, he was everything I'm not. Brave. Strong. Sincere. Honest. Kind. Selfless. He would have been a great king. And he's gone, too. And now..." He drinks down the rest of the glass, clearly getting more inebriated by the minute, and gazes at the table. "...now I haven't even told Hilda the truth yet, and it's too late now. She can't come with me when I go. I was going to ask her to be my queen... Always keeping secrets, even from the woman I love." Has he forgotten Catherine is here? Maybe.

 _Well, if he's going to be drunk and maudlin, misery loves company._ Catherine fills her glass back up and sips, feeling the pleasant fuzziness at the edges of her senses intensify. _What's he talking about? A queen? The Alliance doesn't have a king, that's sort of the point, right? Too many secrets?_ She's too drunk for this. Or maybe not drunk enough. "You think you're the only person losing something here? That you'd be leaving behind the only person who sees you for your humanity and not your celebrity or infamy or Crest status or relic? I don't know what sort of grand plan you had, but it's up to you what to do with the pieces you have left. This isn't a game anyone wins. It's just... A hard choice. Maybe it's fate, who fucking knows." She runs a hand over her face and looks defeated, staring upwards at the ceiling. "I don't have a good answer. Or any answer. Not for you and not for me - other than that I need to be doing this for the right reasons, otherwise..." She just trails off and goes quiet, then puts her glass back on the table. Maybe she's also forgotten Claude is there, despite all pretenses of conversation.

Claude's brow furrows - turns out he is listening, as he turns over what she said in his drink-addled mind. Then abruptly he brings a fist down on the table--firmly, but not hard. It's a punctuation, not anger. "No. I refuse to accept a game no one wins. That's not how Kh--Claude von Riegan does things. If there's _any_ chance for victory, even a partial one, even the _glimmer_ of a hope, I _will_ find it. I'm the leader of a whole gods-damned country, you think a little noble politicking is going to stop me? _Fat chance_."

"Maybe I phrased that wrong. You see, someone does win. It's just not you, or me, or Hilda, or Shamir. We aren't players at the table, we're the pieces on the board. Fuck, I'm the prize. Put your pieces in the right place and win a loyal knight with a pedigree and a lot of victories and a relic. A weapon to display on the mantelpiece." She sighs and puts both hands on the table, a bit in defeat. "But if the chess piece thinks he can beat the players, then I support his attempts."

"If I lose, I'll do it fighting tooth and nail the whole way. Even if I have to go back home and scheme from there. Gotta be a way to turn this weakness into a strength." The weakness being caring about people, presumably.

"Home? Your estate isn't that far from here. It's not like you'll be totally estranged. Her feelings for you certainly aren't going to change and I won't stop... y'know... Special visits from happening. Maybe the winning play isn't to try to beat the players, but to find a new victory condition." She looks at the bottle, drunk and forlorn. "Am I still making sense?"

"Oh, you're making sense, all right." His laugh is not mirthful. "Except the part where you assume Derdriu is 'home.' If I even really have one anymore. Maybe I never did."

This shoots through her intoxicated haze; something isn't adding up. Deirdru isn't home. Something about being an outsider. There are details missing in this story, shaping the framework of his pain. She can sense the missing pieces, but not identify them. "Wait, what do you mean?"

"Fooled you, didn't I? And everybody else, too. Even Hilda. Damn, I'm good." Even as drunk as he is, some part of his mind warns him against saying any more; but he has the overwhelming urge to make Catherine _understand_. He at least has the wherewithal to keep his voice down. "After this war is over, win or lose, I'm going back home. To Almyra."

"...wait, _what?_ " She's _not_ being quiet. She's also probably one of the few in his general orbit who's surprised by this. Maybe that's kinda nice, to get one over on at least someone. It's less an inability to connect the dots, and more trust that someone isn't being intentionally misleading "Fuck, now I get it."

”Shhhhh.” He sighs, slumping over to lean on the table. “So. There you go. That’s the big secret. Do with it what you will, I suppose.”

This leaves Catherine silent for a moment, trying to figure out what exactly this secret plan is and why he needed Byleth. He has to be some kind of Almyran noble or however people make claims to titles there. Claude doesn't seem power hungry; if this was about consolidating territory and laying claim to the world then his best move would have been to arrange a marriage with Edelgard. That's clearly not the case here, given how torn up he is about losing Hilda. _Do with it what you will?_ She drums her fingers on the table. _Do with it what you will..._ "So," she starts, slowly, "You're planning to go back. And do what? Claim some birthright? And then... What?" She pauses again, rolling the idea around in her mind. "Open the border?" That would certainly point to why he's upset about _another_ relic wielder positioned at the Locket...

"Damn, am I really that predictable? Losing my touch, I guess." He picks up his glass and considers it, but puts it back down. "Not just that border. All of them. ...maybe it's better this way. I never should have let myself love her in the first place."

"No, it's not that you're predictable - it's that it's a savvy move." She leans forward to draw with her fingertip in some condensation on the table. "If you have a birthright in two places, it certainly makes sense to have those two things not be separated by a locked border and animosity. An easier trade route means prosperity for your people and your country..ies... It's just smart. The part I'm not connecting is why you're lamenting being in love. Because she can't come with you?"

"You're from Faerghus. You know what happens when a king goes too long without a consort and an heir." He shakes his head. "Besides, it wasn't all about feelings. Having two Fódlan-born queens in as many generations? _That_ would start waking people up. Then maybe my kids wouldn't have to go through the hell I did."

She keeps drawing small circles in the water until she gets bored with that and goes back to staring out over the bay, watching the sun slide toward the horizon. "I see. You could, of course, have your pick of anyone and I'm sure there's no shortage of other eligible partners - but it's much better to be with someone you love. Yeah, I get it. So." She pounds a little on the table with her fist. "You succeed, you get your number one choice, you aim for cultural victory. I get to walk away from this, go back to the arms of my partner, and never have to be someone's weapon again. Win/win. But. What if you don't?"

"Then I'll die trying." Claude barks out a mirthless chuckle. "I'm not being dramatic. I'm not giving up until one of those assassins finally succeeds or someone cuts me down on the battlefield. Who knows, maybe I'll cause a schism so violent we'll have civil war again. That's _one_ way to end up in the history books, isn't it?"

She shakes her head. "I mean, what if you can't redirect the course of _this_ arrangement. What will you do then? Still die trying? _That_ does seem a little dramatic."

This time his laughter is more legitimate. "No, then I'll do my best to forget about Hilda and somehow find someone in Fódlan who doesn't mind being branded a pariah for the rest of their life by association with me and doesn't think my homeland is some barbaric nightmare."  
  
"Let's imagine it shakes out that way. Maybe step one is working on opening that border from here. Because, you see, you now have two allies on this side, with influence over the decision to accept or deny your offer. Then step two, find yourself a new partner. You mean to tell me all your classmates think you're some sort of barbarian prince? I find that hard to believe."

"No, because they don't know, and I'm keeping it that way." He shakes his head. "You don't get it. And I'm sick of explaining myself. Plus I'm drunk so I deserve a little self-pity for once."

"You know what? You're right. I don't get it, and I probably never will. But what I do know is that self-pity isn't productive, and only weighs you down. It's like swimming with your shoes on."

"This is the one time in my life I'm not here to be productive. I'm here to drink until I don't have to think anymore. Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to _stop thinking?"_

"No, no. Not productive as in, getting shit done, as in... good for you. Self-pity is bad for you. Doesn't do anything worthwhile. You're too fuckin' smart to wallow. Chin up, buster. It feels like shit but it's not the end of the world. Promise." She's not sure when she stood up but that sure happened. "Now, if you want to get blackout drunk, we'll need another bottle."

Claude gives her a little salute. "I leave it to you, Ser Knight."

* * *

Claude isn't expecting to wake up in a guest room in his own manor, and _definitely_ not expecting to wake up in bed next to Catherine, who's still snoring and face down in the pillows. Given that they're both dressed in the outfits they went out in, it seems like nothing untoward happened; just two _very_ drunk people passing out next to each other out of convenience. Awkward, though

"uuuuuugh." Why must the sun betray him this way, streaming in through the window so brazenly? He lifts his head and squints at ...Catherine? Wait, what? He flops over onto his back and glances around the room. Not his room. She must have brought him back here? He doesn't remember. "Catherine. Caaaatheriiiiine."

Catherine grumbles and lifts her head, opening one eye to peer at him. "What." A pause. "Claude why are you in bed with me"

"I dunno, don't remember. You tell me." He closes his eyes and covers them with an arm.

"I don't remember either. I only sort of remember picking you up because you were too drunk to walk"

"...sheesh. Been a _while_ since I did that. Good thing I had a big, strong knight to save me, huh? haha--ow it hurts to laugh."

She starts to laugh too, and then groans. "Fuck. You said as much last night, and then said I looked sort of like Dimitri with big boobs, and then you insisted on wearing my cloak and then cried about missing him. Then I don't remember what happened after that."

"...don't suppose you'd consider conveniently forgetting that part, too? I can bribe you if need be."

"I'll consider it if you give me my cloak back." She elbows him, teasing. "I'm pretty sure you're still partially wrapped up in it."

"Whuh." He fishes around for the ends of what he thought was a blanket but, in fact, is Catherine's cloak. "Oh." He pulls it out from under him and plops it on top of Catherine. "If it makes you feel better, I don't _actually_ think you look like Dimitri. ...maybe a little."

She manages a chuckle without wincing. "Hey, thanks." She tosses the cloak aside. "We _are_ related. I can see it."

"That's right. Cousins or something."

"Second cousins? I think? I don't know. My dad and the former King Lambert were cousins."

He sighs. "Do I _have_ to get up today?"

She flops onto her back "Well. I'm not going to make you."

”Good. That’s the excuse I’ll use with the nobles, then. ‘Catherine said I could stay in bed.’”

She laughs and groans again. "You're welcome to use that excuse. I'm sure it'll go over well."

”Hey, at least they’ll never think to look for me here.”

"That's very true. We're bound to get hungry at some point, though."

"Curse you and your logic." The Archduke of the Leicester Alliance proceeds to outright _whine_ into his pillow. "All right, all right. But coffee first. Or any miraculous hangover cure you happen to know of."

"My usual hangover cure is water before bed, a big piss in the middle of the night, and then an enormous, greasy breakfast."

Claude snorts. “Well, it’s too late for two out of three, but breakfast, we can do. Someday, in the far-flung future, when I get up.”

"Judging by this thundering headache I have, I definitely missed at least one of the first two steps." She chuckles. "Do you go out drinking and wake up in bed with all your foreign dignitaries, or am I just lucky?"

”You’re the first and, I desperately hope, the last. Congratulations on this great honor. I’ll have someone make you a medal.”

She can't help but let loose a big, full-bodied laugh, even if it makes her head pound more. "Oh, please do. I've never wanted a medal more!"

He laughs too, and it’s nice to have something to laugh about. Then he exhales heavily. “Thanks for letting me dump all my deepest, darkest feelings in your lap last night, Catherine. As you might guess, it’s not usually something I do.”

Catherine rolls onto her side to look at him, propping her head up on a fist. "You really tipped your hand. Good thing I'm a trustworthy person."

”I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t know that. Drunk or not.”

"I'm glad you trust me, all things considered."

”I’m a little surprised myself that I do, to be honest.” A pause, and then he turns his head to meet her gaze. “And I trust you to do right by Hilda, too.”

She smiles, though it's bittersweet. "Yeah, I'll do my best."

Claude eyes her expression and then tosses a pillow at her. “Let’s go get that breakfast, shall we? My treat, for putting up with me.”

"He-mmmmph." Catherine takes the pillow to the face and then rolls away in mock offense. "Is this how you treat all your _guests_ , Your Grace?!" She can't help but laugh again anyway, though.

”Not at all, Ser Knight, you should be honored! ;)”

"I could go for a mountain of bacon and potatoes."

“All you had to say was ‘bacon’ and I’m suddenly starving. And I want pancakes. A tower of them.”

"Ohhh, pancakes also sound amazing. Let's do it." She swings her legs out of bed and stands up, to realize she does not have pants on. "Hm, there's another mystery to solve."

”I’m usually all for solving mysteries, but in this case I think I’ll let you have the honors.” Claude rolls out of bed and half-stumbles to his feet. His hair is a veritable nest of tangled curls.

"It's largely a matter of guessing in which direction I threw them..." She chuckles at his hair. "Aren't we both a mess this morning?"

He glances up and runs a hand ineffectively through his hair. “Hey, speak for yourself. I’m handsomely tousled.”

Catherine laughs. "Ah-ha! There they are. Allow me to join you in being attractively unkempt."

"What a pair of nobles we are, huh? I'm sure Lorenz and your father both would die of shock on the spot if they were here to see us now." He does make a halfhearted effort to smooth his rumpled clothes and at least somewhat tame his unruly hair, though the latter is a tall order. "Then again, maybe we'll start a new trend."

"Oh, die on the spot? Maybe that _will_ happen. Then I'll inherit House Charon and I can walk away from this decision - saving you and I a lot of headache."

"Yikes! I'll just pretend I didn't hear that one."

"If you think I haven't spent this week considering whether or not I can push my father into a canal and not get caught, you're wrong." She winks.

 _That's...that's a joke, right?_ Claude chooses not to ask, instead gesturing toward the door. "After you, Ser Catherine."

She steps out of the room. "Where to?"

He follows her out, down the hall and down the stairs, then out the door, where far too much sunshine meets them. He squints, shielding his eyes. "To my favorite little eatery by the docks, where they make a truly amazing spiced coffee. And I don't mean cinnamon. They make it with Morfis chili powder."

"That sounds... incredible." There's just the barest moment of hesitation, a flicker of sadness breaking through her otherwise bright expression.

Hungover Claude may be, but he still catches that flash of something else in Catherine's expression. "Shamir drinks a lot of coffee, doesn't she?" Conversational, light.

"Can't start the day without it, heh." She smiles, but isn't as good as hiding its insincerity. "I've made plenty of pots in the morning."

"I guess Shamir and I have that in common. Well, you and she are in luck--there are plenty of good coffee traditions in Leicester."

"I doubt she'll be sticking around after this is over."

"I don't know about that. She's a wanderer, sure, but her heart lives with you. Even if she doesn't stay for good, she'll always be back."

"Heh, I didn't really think it was goodbye forever, but it certainly is goodbye for a while." Her smile widens a little. "A lot of things are like that."

Claude's own smile is small and inscrutable. "Yes, they are." But his ordinary conversational tone returns soon after. "Well, if you ever find you're missing the smell of coffee in the morning, you're always welcome to visit me here. And bring your wife." He's much more in control of himself today than he was yesterday; he doesn't let any sadness or bitterness slip into his tone at all. Maybe he doesn't even feel it anymore--maybe he's made peace with it, after the catharsis of last night. He's not entirely certain himself. "I've talked with Shamir about it a few times, you know," after a moment. "About how people like me and her don't belong in one place forever. We're always searching for the next one when we've overstayed our welcome, or when things change just enough. Whether with others or within us."

"My wife, huh. Feels weird to hear and weirder to say. Made your peace with it then?" Maybe being weepy and drunk and wrapped up in her cloak really helped. Sometimes you gotta just get it all out. She understands that, at least.

"I'm honestly not sure. But I'm a master at talking casually about things until they become no big deal. ;)"

"Maybe you should take her with you. Home, that is."

He glances over at her. "Shamir? Huh. She did express an interest in visiting there someday. She always was a sharp one. Who knows, maybe I'll ask her."

"I'm sure she'd travel with you, if nothing else. You wouldn't have to go alone." Catherine shrugs.

Claude laces his fingers behind his head as they walk. "Not going alone, huh? I do like the sound of that."

"Perhaps, if we can't take our number one choice with us, we can instead simply not go alone."

He smiles. "You're a wise woman, Catherine."

"I don't know about that. Experienced, maybe."

"I don't think those are as different as you're making them sound."

Her lips tug into a smirk. "I did tell you yesterday that if you couldn't win a rigged game, to find a different victory condition."

"You did. And ordinarily, that's the sort of thing I'm good at. Yesterday...well, let's just say I wasn't exactly at my best."

"Yesterday sucked, and is behind us now."

"Well said."


End file.
